


It's Always The Same Between Us

by Highlightlover4693



Series: Stolen Moments (Shots) [2]
Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlightlover4693/pseuds/Highlightlover4693
Summary: Marc really doesn't know how to stop it anymore, but it always leads them to the same situation.





	1. Chapter 1

~It's Always The Same Between Us~

 

They shouldn't have.

That's always the first thing that comes to his mind as soon as he wakes up, as soon as the italian's _always_ amazing scent hits his nostrils.

But there they are. Repeating the same mistake over and over again. It's like a loop they can't seem to escape.

He stirs ever so slightly, not wanting to wake up Vale just yet. He needs a moment. A moment to think about what they have done.

For the millionth time.

He brushes the sleepiness off his eyes, running a hand through his tousled hair, in an useless attempt of making it look more decent. But the gesture only makes his heart skip a beat at the fresh memory of how those nimble, unfairly talented, clever fingers slid through it last night, how they tugged lightly, making a soft moan slid of his own lips. _And yeah, how could he have been able to stop after that?_

Shaking his head, he sits up on the mattress slowly, carefully removing the, much to his dismay, _too_ comforting, _too_ warm arm that is sprawled over his stomach, only earning a little stir from the other.

Marc runs his hands all over his face, as if trying to wash the feelings off, to shut down the (there's no point on denying it anymore) incredible memories, that always manage to make his belly tingly with those damned butterflies.

But he then finally looks down at him and his reaction is _always_ the same.

Speechless.

Absolutely speechless at the man's beauty. How at peace and relaxed his harmonious features look, how that slender chest Marc maped over and over again last night goes up and down evenly, following the compass of his steady breathing. His still short hair reflects the first rays of sun that filter through the ajar curtains. And those sinfully soft lips rest on display, making Marc bit his own.

He swears he could be staring at the beautiful view he has in front during the whole day. _Because how the hell is he supposed to be able to resist that?_ It seems that he has never been able to, and apparently he never would.

Vale has always been his biggest weakness. _Always_. Something he had already assumed. No matter how much shit they stirred over each other. No matter how many fights and arguments they had.

That was precisely what had taken them there, in the first place. _Because how the fuck can someone look that hot when they are angry?_

Yeah, it had become like a ritual after most races. Rarely they _BOTH_ are happy with how the weekend turned out. And they have found it very easy to blame the other, no matter if they even didn't encounter each other in a single corner. But that was how it was. In the night, they would _always_ find themselves in the other's door, as if pulled by an invisible string. And they would _always_ argue, find an excuse to fight for the most silly, stupid thing. They would vent their frustration through their words, what felt great, to be honest. But what felt even better was what _always_ followed the argument. They would finish it dangerously close, staring at each other with an insoluble mix of want and exasperation.

And then it would just happen.

Lips would crash violently, hungry, always desperate. Hands would roam relentlessly, wanting to trace every single bit of skin, every single muscle. Shapes that they knew by heart now, but that they would never get tired of exploring as if every time was the first. Sounds would be released, sending each other even further on fire, wanting to push the other's buttons, wanting to earn as much of those heavenly noises as possible.

And it would always lead them to where they were now. To wake up together, in a situation they swear every single time they won't repeat. But the promise never lasts.

They _always_ end up falling for it again. And Marc was sure he hadn't any willpower left. Because every time those eyes fell on him he was completely disarmed, at the italian's absolute mercy. It has always seemed to be like that, and he doubted it would ever change.

He blinks repeatedly, wondering if he would really try to avoid it the next time. If he would try to stop it. But he knew pretty well too that it would never be the case. He knew he would never waste or refuse the opportunity to spend a night with Vale.

Never.

He was that addicted to it. 

Beyond frustrated with himself, of how badly he was hurting his heart and his mind, he removed the already familiar sheets off him, revealing his still naked body and got up, looking for his boxers, finally finding them on one of the furthest corners of the room. And really, how had that managed to get there?

Sighing, and simply unable of moving on just yet, he sat on the edge of the mattress once again, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands, as usual, asking himself what the fuck was he doing with his life.

Until the figure behind him moved, the mattress dipping under the pressure of the light motion, cutting his train of thought.

He turned his neck slightly taking in the sight of an awakening Vale that immediately locked eyes with him. And the first look they shared was _always_ the same one, mixture of guilt, disbelief and some kind of longing that never failed to make Marc swallow harshly, knowing they were thinking the exact same thing.

_We gave in to it again._

He saw the italian closing his eyes for a few seconds, letting his head rest against the pillow, rubbing his temples, as if they were hurting.

"I...I should be gone already" without standing anymore the silence between them he got up once again, clearing his throat in the process, trying to shove down the uncomfortable knot that was choking him, and started searching for the rest of his clothes, that were laying in the most unsuspected places of the motorhome.

He glimpsed Valentino sitting up on the bed, without saying a single word, just staring at his hands, that were fidgeting absently with the wrinkled sheets.

While he dressed up he stole some glances at the Yamaha rider, feeling his heart skip a few beats when one of those times he caught the italian staring. 

It was always the same, the same unspoken conversation hanging in the air, the same silence that spoke volumes. Later, Marc would leave unnoticed, arrive at his own motorhome only to be under Alex's deeply disappointed, disapproving gaze. A look he low-key agreed with.

"Marc" that makes him stop dead cold, shirt in between his hands, still trying to smooth it out. "I...I think we should...talk"

Marc nearly snorted out loud. _Talk_. As if anything that was going on there could be expressed with words. But who knows? Maybe it would be better than this wordless agreement that was starting to drill his insides. Because they have been treating this like _just sex_. But Marc knew by heart that, in his case, it would never be _just sex_. Not with Vale.

The italian got up, as well, Marc following attentively his movements as he put on his underwear too, his eyes inevitably dragged to his bare back were his own fingertips had left several marks the night before that would take a while to fade.

Valentino walked slowly towards him, grazing and turning his trademark earring between his fingers, as he did every time he seemed to be thinking about a way to phrase his thoughts.

He came closer, too close for Marc to think straight, his blue eyes bore into him, but he obliged himself to stand still, his dark irises looking up, not losing the incredibly intimate connection their gazes had always seemed to have.

"This...we shouldn't...let it happen again" the italian muttered lowly, really lowly. As if he didn't want the words to be heard fully, but the silence in the room was so absolute it would have been impossible for Marc not to catch it.

"I've heard that before" he replied, chuckling but without a single hint of humour palpable on his voice. Because they always said that, and in the end, they always ended up ignoring it.

"I know...but, we should really stop this" Valentino tightened his jaw and Marc found it absolutely imposible to work out what he would probably be thinking. 

He searched for his eyes, that were suddenly fixed on the floor. And he couldn't help it, he desperately needed to know what was going on, what the hell were they doing. Because this couldn't go on like that, they couldn't carry on like this.

Marc was sure it would end up driving him nuts. Cause he couldn't be more confused about his feelings, about how his emotions blossomed and exploded beyond control every time the italian looked at him, touched him, spoke to him...

And he needed answers.

He took a step closer, relieved when he felt the italian not backing away, but lifting his eyes to look at him, their bodies dangerously close now, breaths mingling and the surfaces of their skin aching for a slight brush, a faint touch.

Marc licked his lips, his body covered with goosebumps as Vale's pupils blew wide.

"Please...tell me, sincerely, if this means anything to you at all" the whisper came out much harsher than he had intended, but he felt as if his throat was closing, contracting inevitably, dreading the answer.

Valentino parted his lips, and Marc waited expectantly for a reply, for words that wouldn't come. The italian was evading his eyes once again, fixing his attention in anything but Marc.

This private moments, when it was just the two of them, he couldn't help marveling at how different the man in front of him can be from the cheerful one people know. But, to be fair, Vale makes him just as different, too. He always had. Marc would have never considered himself a shy person. He wasn't. But he can still remember as if it had been yesterday how speechless and stunned he had been the first time he had the chance to stand in front of his idol. How the words had got irreversibly stuck on his throat while his cheeks couldn't help but catch constantly on fire. That awe had always made Marc act with the italian in a way he had never done with other riders. And he just couldn't help it.

After a fair amount of time that seemed like ages to him, Marc nodded slightly, absently as he slid the shirt on. He tasted a sour hint within him that made him wish he hadn't made the question but that at the same time pushed him to ask the next one.

"Did I ever mean anything to you?" and this one finally managed to pull a reaction out of the italian, he turned his gaze sharply towards him, almost severe, as if the words alone offended him.

"I think I should be the one asking you that" the hard reply had the same effect on Marc a punch on his stomach would have, his blood running cold all over. He just couldn't believe it.

"Are you fucking serious?" this time he couldn't help the bitterness in his words. Because, really, had he been that bad at demonstrating it?

"I am" Valentino's expression had changed from melancholic to defensive in a heartbeat, and Marc really didn't know how to deal with those mood swaps anymore.

"You know the answer perfectly" he didn't bother into keeping a calm tone, where was the point on feigning that things were okay? That everything was fixed? It was still fucked up. Pretty badly, actually "You know you mean to me more than I could express"

"It didn't look like it" the words where accompanied by a snort that infuriated Marc even more. Because he knew what the italian was referring to. 2015.

"Are we really going there again?" he spat exasperatedly, already tired of the same senseless delusions.

"No, never. I'm already fed up with it" Valentino breathed tiredly, not looking at him directly anymore "I don't even know what the fuck was I thinking. This, you...were a mistake from the beginning"

This time the words really took Marc aback. Suddenly, his heart ached as if it was being squeezed too tightly, and he stood there, with the tough remark as if it had been smashed against his chest, knocking the oxygen off his lungs. So that was what he had always been for the italian. Just another mistake.

Another regret.

He felt wetness accumulating annoyingly quickly on the corners of his eyes, his throat stung, making the air come out scorching, almost painful.

Finally Valentino turned around nonchalantly, as if what he had just said lacked importantance, apparently not realizing how much it had shattered Marc, at least until their gazes found one another again and the italian's softened endlessly all of a sudden, his posture losing its stiffness in a heartbeat.

"Marc..." Valentino took a step closer but this time he was the one backing away. He couldn't allow this constant pressure on his emotions anymore, that had been taking him apart bit by bit since that awful season, since that awful year. He really needed to turn the page, to forget it, to get it out of him.

It was only hurting him, consuming him. He had tried to be his friend, he had tried with all he had to normalize things between them, to treat him as another colleague. But it just didn't work. It would never work. 

He felt his limbs as if made of iron, heavy, too heavy to move. He kept staring at the void for a few seconds. That was how a glimpse of reality felt like. Bitter, hurtful, emptying...

"Marc...I didn't mean it like that, I didn't..." the italian kept on getting closer and Marc finally gave up on trying to move away.

His breath caught on his throat when he felt long, slender arms enveloping him. And he couldn't hold back the reflex of hugging back, of burying his face in the warmness if the other rider's neck.

He shouldn't.

He knew he didn't. But in that very moment he felt as if he was a kid all over again, needing comfort after being hurt.

"Bambino, I'm so sorry I didn't mean it like that...I...Sorry" Marc felt a tingly sensation at the whispered nickname. God, it had been so, so long since he had heard it for the last time. It transported him to 2013, when he was a simple young man that was in awe with everything around him, especially with the man in front of him now.

And again, he knows he shouldn't.

He knows he has to put some distance between them. So as not to quiver, not give in...because he knows he always gives in.

But then, their faces remain just inches apart, noses only separated by millimeters and their gazes lock. And that is it. As if his body was moved by an engine that escapes his will, he just gets rid of the annoying distance between their lips, that are craving, shouting urgently for the other's. And just like that they are involved again in that helplessly passionate dance that overtakes his entire being and ignites him on fire, that makes him forget everything about the world around them.

It's just the two them.

It's just Vale's heavenly, soft lips grazing his, the pressure they impose feeling amazing, prompting Marc to respond even more eagerly, parting up and willingly granting the entrance to that velvety tongue that makes him evade completely. That only focus his attention on being that close to Vale, something his whole being has shouted for since the moment they met. His hands slid automatically around the Italian's slender neck, scrapping his smooth skin, pulling him as close as he can, feeling the light touch of the Yamaha rider's fingertips over his hips, caressing with a tenderness that surprises Marc beyond measure, that makes him shudder and tremble.

He just needed a few irrational seconds to feel the italian's touch too hot against his skin, too tempting. He disentangled from his body brusquely, avoiding his piercing gaze as much as possible.

"Marc..." God he couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't stand his name being pronounced that beautifully for someone that hated him, that thought he was a mistake, an error.

He ran his hands all over his face, trying in vain to rub off all the confusion and anxiety that was eating him alive. Feeling the need of fresh air being suddenly overwhelming, he quickly put his trainers back on and hurried outside, far, leaving behind a Valentino, that although due to years of experience knew how to mask his feelings better, was experiencing the same storm of emotions within him.

And it didn't look like it would stop anytime soon.

~*~

  
Little they knew that in the end, no matter how often they discussed that, because Marc was right, _it was always the same_ , he thought as he inhaled Valentino's scent once again the following race weekend, completely out of breath, but never getting tired of it.

He allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the warmth and the electrifying feeling of their overheated skin together, the sparks flying when their eyes connected.

And one thing he was sure about, though.

No matter how hard he tried, he would never turn that little, stolen moment down. Never. After a few torturous minutes where he had a hard internal battle about if he should leave already, not prolonging the fallout, he finally tried to sit up. But this time, Vale tightened his hold around, preventing him from moving. 

"Please, don't...need you here" the whisper came out of the italian's throat incredibly raspy and Marc's heart fluttered, inexplicably and inevitably.

He didn't let himself analyze if the words where sincere. They probably weren't. But for once, he let himself be held, he let himself believe it.

They would argue in the morning.

Right now he had all he had ever dreamt of.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the lovely Jules 9326 suggested a sequel and after yesterday's race I couldn't say no. So, here it is! I really hope you like it and please, don't hesitate on letting me know what you think if you feel like it!
> 
> (As usual, English is not my first language, so excuse possible mistakes ;))
> 
> Missed you so much, guys! And thanks so much for reading! ❤

_**Twin Ring Motegi, 15th October** _

_**Sunday Evening** _

 

Marc knows he shouldn't.

He shouldn't be leaning on the counter top of the little kitchen of his motorhome with an already empty glass of water on his hand, his cold fingers leaving its prints on the transparent surface, waiting, listening to the almost complete silence outside, only broken by the usual string of noise of some scooter, neither of them what he has been expecting for almost an hour now, craving to hear that sometimes quick, sometimes violent, sometimes impatient knock on his door, that tonight is taking longer than usual.

He turns the empty glass between his palms, thankful to have something between them, something to keep his hands in motion and his nerves busy.

He knows he shouldn't have showered that hurriedly, he shouldn't have picked those sweatpants and hoodie instead of his pyjama pants. The clothes being the constant reminder that it is no longer a deep, little wish from his subconscious. He's really expecting _him_.

After two race Sundays, almost a month and a half without seeing each other as privately as usual, here he is. Waiting for it all over again. He had hoped that after the italian's injury and the weekend at Aragon, where Marc knew he wouldn't exactly be up for a simple talk, he had hoped this hole in their dangerous routine would make him forget it, that it would help him to restrain himself.

But it had backfired completely. He would be ashamed to admit how many times during this weekend he had looked forward to this precise moment, when _he_ would appear.

 _Finally_. 

He knows he shouldn't lift his gaze towards the clock, he knows he shouldn't stare at those needles that move horribly slow, only managing to feed his anxiety. But nonetheless, despite the low speed, they keep on moving, signaling how time is passing by this night without his visit.

He knows this should be good, the fact that at least one of them managed to think clearly, for once and do the right thing. Do what they should have done since the beginning. Avoid each other as much as possible, not seek for the other, like they had been doing until very recently.

Precisely that break he thought would help him forget all of this, that would help him bury that hazardous desire deep down his soul to never look at it again. Yeah, it had made him crave that strange ritual of them even harder.

He obliges himself to move, to do something that doesn't make him feel guilty. He forces his arm to put the glass on the sink, he orders his hand to turn on the TV and he prompts his mind to focus on something useless, irrelevant, evading, that can make him fall asleep and take him out of the banned, prohibited territory his brain is helplessly approaching.

Because he does know where he is, he knows exactly where he can find the solution to that craving that is boiling his guts.

But he shouldn't. He definitely shouldn't.  
The warning manages to keep him sprawled on the couch for another half an hour, and this time, he's pretty sure he had never felt this fucked-up after such a good weekend, after such a positive result, after such a fun, exciting race as this morning's. But he does. It scares him, how much relevance those things seem to lack in that moment.

Not standing anymore having something running on the TV he hasn't been listening a single word about, he switches it off, throwing the remote towards the nearest pillow.

And just like that he's surrounded by silence once again. At least, a superficial silence. Because his mind is in the most absolute chaos and he seems to have run out of ways to make it stop. 

Deep down he knows there is only one thing that can calm it. There is only one thing that can turn it all off. At least for a moment.

He knows he shouldn't, but he fears the chained beast has fled from his ribcage, it has left the restraint behind and it's overwhelming him. Not able to keep himself still anymore he does it. He does what he is pretty positive he shouldn't, definitely shouldn't be doing.

Without tormenting himself anymore he finally puts on his trainers, carelessly, quickly, rushed.

He simply needs to see him. _Just see him._

He needs to look into those eyes to consider this weekend complete. It has been too long, way too long since the last time.

~*~

The Japanese cold air hits him like a raw wall. Cursing himself under his breath for not picking up his coat, he snuggles into his hoodie, burying his hands until they reach the deepest part of his pockets.

He thought he would be over the internal conflict already, but the battle between his body and his brain on the short way there is even harder than the one he put up with Dovi this morning. Fortunately or unfortunately, he can't decide, he reaches the desired motorhome's dark door before any part of him wins, hence his knuckles tap the surface before he can do anything to stop himself.

It's probably less than a minute, but the time he spends there, waiting once again seems way longer than a bunch of seconds. He hears soft movement at the other side and when his voice finally reaches Marc's ears he feels a knot helplessly forming down his throat.

"Leave" it's short and raspy, and definitely not what he expected, but he should have kept this possibility in mind, anyway.

The race wasn't great for everyone, especially for the older, and yet here he is, bothering him with his childish behavior and impulsivity. But still, he had fought really, really hard to get his persona there and if there is a quality (or a defect, he can't decide once again) that is distinctive of him that's his stubbornness. He's not leaving with both of them in this state.

"I just wanted to talk" he struggles more than he thought he would to get the words past his suddenly incredibly narrow throat.

It feels good, though, to finally be sincere about his intentions in one of their encounters. Besides, he doesn't think he has the mental, let alone physical energy for anything else today.

"Leave, I'm not in the mood for an argument right now" _That makes two of us_ , he almost hisses under his breath, vaguely registering how little puffs of breath hung in the air for a few milliseconds, the cold starting to penetrate through the thin fabric of his hoodie and he could almost swear it would reach his bones in no time.

"Valentino" the name comes out shaky, because he's starting to shiver now and if he doesn't move in a few minutes he's positive the italian would find a frozen Marc in his doorway in the morning "Please"

He tries one last time, rubbing his not enough covered arms in a useless attempt of creating a bit of heat. Just when he's about to give up, the chance of getting an answer seeming slimmer than ever, the doorknob turns and the dim light from the inside floods the surface of his skin.

It takes him a few seconds to focus on the silhouette that stands in front of him, slender back-lit form revealing that he's indeed in front of who he was dying to see. Fortunately, the italian seems to notice his freezing state and before Marc knows it, he's pulled inside, the thud of the door closing sounding dryer and louder than ever.

The TV is on, he can recognize voices speaking in Italian in the background, maybe he had been seeing a film. It makes him wonder if Valentino has really been able to focus on something or if he had used as a technique to distract himself. Exactly what Marc had epically failed at.

There is, ironically much, an empty glass on the table, but after what happened to the italian today he really doubts it had contained something as innocent as water, what has been his case.

He finally takes his hands out of his pockets completely, trying to keep inside a sigh of relief when his body registers he's in a normal temperature again. Then he turns around to focus on the other rider.

Tired.

That's the word to describe him. He looks as handsome as always, his blue eyes hadn't changed their mesmerizing shade, but tiredness hovers all over his features. It makes him look younger and older all at the same time.

Valentino clears his throat, taking Marc away from his thoughts to focus on the present. Running his hands through his disheveled hair, he slowly follows the italian towards the couches, as his gaze is inevitably attracted towards his now almost unnoticeable limp, and he wonders why the Yamaha rider his avoiding the eye contact this much today.

But again, that's what they BOTH should be doing. Still, here he is, testing their luck and their willpower to unsuspected limits. 

He watches how Vale lets himself fall on the dark sofa. Despite the apparently relaxed posture, he thinks the older rider looks more tense than ever.

"You shouldn't have come" his usually light voice sounds heavy, his normally smooth, agile movements seem spent but his brain still works perfectly, better than Marc's in this moment. And yeah, he couldn't agree more.

"Yeah, I know" he murmurs, seating besides Valentino, close, but not close enough for his taste "I just...needed to see if you..."

He curses as his inability to phrase his confusing thoughts, that strange need, but the words only get stuck on his throat. When he last expects it, a soft chuckle interrupts his inner struggle.

"Yeah, sure. I bet you were really worried" the bitter tone makes him frown, makes his nerves revolve, asking himself if coming here had really been the remedy he needed.

"I thought you weren't in the mood for an argument" he retorts, tracing an imaginary line up and down the grey, soft fabric of his sweatpants.

"I'm not" Valentino quickly cuts, absently fidgeting with the remote between his nimble fingers, setting a rhythm that almost has Marc mesmerized. Maybe it isn't the nicest conversation ever, but he doesn't miss how much his mind and body has relaxed, compared to half an hour ago. He shouldn't feel at this ease. He should never had. And yet, in his biggest rival's presence, he feels more comfortable than he has during the whole weekend "I thought I had managed it"

Marc's head jerk up, because he isn't sure he has fully understood the meaning or context, of that sentence.

"Managed what?" He can't help himself from asking, still looking for the connection of their gazes, that apparently isn't happening yet, either.

"Not giving in. Not seeing you" the whisper laces with a smile that doesn't contain an ounce of humor. That Marc's has seen more than once "But you came, to screw me even further"

Marc really has to bite his tongue to keep the reply down his guts. It's true. He isn't there to argue and they wouldn't.

_Me, screwing him. I'm pretty sure it's the other way around._

"Believe me or not, I'm not here for that"  
The statement seems to take the Yamaha rider by surprise, his eyes finally breaking their orientation towards the TV, to fix on Marc.

And there it is. The sparks flying in the air feel like a balsamic cure that embraces him. And he's not even the wounded one.

But then, he recognizes something there, the kind of glimmer that appears on someone's gaze when they know you are being honest. Nonetheless, the tension between them gets thicker than before and somehow, the tiredness on Valentino's face gets even more evident. As if it reflected something negative that was taking place on the internal part of his body.

And just like that, before they even know what are they doing, Marc pulls himself closer, finds a place besides the italian's body that seems to have been made for him, rest his head against that shoulder he has slept over so many times and lets his scent flood him.

This is different, for once, quite different from what they are used to. But the essence of the moment remains the same. If they opened their mouths, probably only mean syllables would had come out, but if they have learned something, it is that only gestures can express what is going on between them. To his surprise, Vale doesn't say anything, doesn't push him away today, like he feared he would. To his astonishment, he simply sighs as he puts his hand around his shoulders. And that's it. This is what he needed, what he have been craving without knowing it. Simply having his warmth besides him, his pressure by his side.

"I had almost resisted today" the italian whispers, and it sounds so unbelievably seductive, his body can't help but end up sending uncontrollable shivers down his spine.

"You're still doing it" he murmurs back, against the soft skin of Vale's neck. It takes him a brief moment to understand that it didn't help their last agreement at all.

"Not for long if you keep on doing that" he hears the Yamaha rider breath out above him. If they had been in another situation he would have smirked, but the italian wasn't the only one feeling suddenly weak.

But he feels a sudden urge overtaking him all over, he feels an abrupt desire to feel that skin closer, as close as possible. Before he can stop them, his lips leave a soft kiss there. But the worst thing is that it is not the only one. More slow, smooth pecks follow the path of Valentino's pulse point, and Marc simply focus on breathing the other's being as closer as he can.

"Marc...you should stop" and yeah, the hoarse way he lets out his name in, almost makes him tremble once again. Besides, it seems that he had become very fond of doing what he shouldn't.

He feels Vale's nimble fingers closing around his wrist, but it doesn't stick there for too long, his palm travels up Marc's arm, until he feels those fingertips hovering over his jaw, tilting his head up and making him meet Valentino's eyes.

It's like entering a trance, like being mesmerized because he can no longer think about anything else.

"You know, you always ruin everything..." Fortunately, Marc already knows him too well to feel offended, because now that's the closest he will get to a compliment.

But when their lips finally meet, it doesn't matter any longer. It's the gentlest they had kissed for a long time. It's the first time the contact of their tongues is not bruising, angry nor desperate. It's so slow, so lingering and captivating it makes Marc feel like flying, as if everything that was once chaotic was suddenly on harmony, on the correct place. It surprises him, the fact that neither of them pushes for anything else. It's just a kiss. But that feels way more special than they would have imagined.

In the end, it's the same as usual but not quite.

In the end, he wakes up before the Sun does, with Vale by his side, but this time they are both fully clothed, cuddled on the sofa. He bites his lip, absolutely loving the sight, the innocent, peaceful look on the italian that makes him look ten years younger. And Marc feels fully healed, at ease.

It's the first time he feels they had done nothing wrong, and maybe this is what they need once in a while. Argue when the time feels right and just be there when they don't feel like doing anything else. For the first time, he thinks he had found something he could live with.

Deciding it is a topic that doesn't need further stirring, he plants one last delicate kiss on Valentino's forehead, definitely feeling more happy than he should with the prospect of seeing him again on Thursday.

He _shouldn't_ , once again, but he does. And this time, he's okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Next weekend we will go with another one. 
> 
> Love you! And, as usual, your thoughts would be extremely appreciated! Big hugs ❤


End file.
